


Baking Cookies is a Dangerous Thing

by BlackCatWithACaptorHat



Category: Cookie Clicker
Genre: Gen, and it can be hella rad, as rad as cookie clicker fanfiction can be, bear with me yo, enjoy the show folks, i don't know what the fuck i'm doing, this is a giant joke this is literally fanfiction of fucking cookie clicker, trust me it's gonna be rad though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 09:38:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackCatWithACaptorHat/pseuds/BlackCatWithACaptorHat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started off innocent enough. You were bored one hot summer day, not too long after school let out, and you had a sudden craving for chocolate chip cookies; nothing out of the ordinary. You were home by yourself, as your family had went on vacation for a week, so you saw no harm in testing your baking skills.</p><p>You never thought baking cookies was so dangerous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baking Cookies is a Dangerous Thing

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know what i'm doing with my life but apparently this is something i'm doing  
> enjoy

It started off innocent enough. You were bored one hot summer day, not too long after school let out, and you had a sudden craving for chocolate chip cookies; nothing out of the ordinary. You were home by yourself, as your family had went on vacation for a week, so you saw no harm in testing your baking skills. Your great grandmother used to own a bakery, you faintly recall your mother telling you when you were too young to care. You set your laptop to the side, the whirring of the fans inside overpowered by the fan plugged into the wall. Your joints crack as you stand up and walk to the kitchen.

You look in the fridge, grab the unopened bag of chocolate chips that have been in there for as long as you can remember, and take the premade cookie dough in your other hand. You pull back and close the door with your hip, setting the ingredients gently on the counter. You duck down and scour the cabinets beside your oven, almost giving up hope before spotting the cookie sheet.

Your eyes light up with glee, and you all but pull the thing out, setting it on top of the stove as if it were a newborn baby that you had been entrusted to hold by its mother before even its father got to hold it. You waste no time as you wash your hands hurriedly, spray nonstick spray onto the sheet, and roll the dough into what you guessed to be the correct shapes and amounts. You almost put it in the oven as it is before you remember the chocolate chips.

You tear open the bag, grab a handful of chips, and begin to place them into little patterns that you make subconsciously. You grin and slide the tray into the oven. You set it to the appropriate temperature and time, and then skip back to your laptop to wait for your cookies to be done.

You never thought making cookies could be so dangerous.


End file.
